


andrew minyard hates everything

by nexusaurorae



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Exy, Gentle fucking, LMAO, M/M, Neil - Freeform, about everything, and i love him, and if I do, andrew is Angst King, andrew is in some steady denial, but it's mostly non-graphic, esp. chapter 2, he hates, i might add to this, idk - Freeform, it was hella fun to write, it wont be regular, it's essentially a look into andrew's thoughts, leave comments if you have a suggestion because it's pretty unlikely i'll add to this, so fluffy you might contract a disease, soft, there's a sexy bit, they're just one shots pretty much???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nexusaurorae/pseuds/nexusaurorae
Summary: andrew hates a bunch of things- neil josten, exy etc.he's a bit of a meme tbh





	1. andrew minyard hates exy

andrew minyard _hates_ exy.

 

He doesn’t care for it- some sticks, some balls, some sweaty people running what is essentially suicides up and down the court- he hates it.

 

He also _hates_ the speed of the games, the sudden pressure when there’s a brilliant opposing backliner, who just slams the ball to the nearest striker and Andrew has to actually move, _quickthinkfast,leftcorner,pressure,_ and saved.

 

He hates the rush of endorphins, hates the tiny threatening smile when the crowd is too shocked to scream for a second when they realise that he’s made a nigh-impossible save.

 

He hates the _intensity_ of the games, hates how captivated the audience- and some players, and a certain red-haired boy that takes up zero space in Andrew’s head, none at all, but that’s a different story- gets, hates the way they can’t help but jump up and scream when there’s a save, a pass, and the buzzer sounds for a goal.

 

Hates the determination on the face of every player’s face except his own- watching the flex of each strand of sinew and muscle in the cracks in the player’s underarmour, the absolute brutality of an illegal check or of a player that’s so _wrapped up_ in the game that tey don't have any capacity to focus on anything else but the game, score the points and win.

 

He hates running through the physics of each shot, his brain going over each law as a striker tosses the ball- hates preparing for a shot, deflecting, and his shoulders relax.

 

And he _hates_ it, does not like it at all, when a player growls at him, pissed off at Andrew’s raw skill and impassive face- and he _hates_ the look of admiration he gets from Kevin (rare as they are) when he makes a save that pulls the Foxes over the edge and onto the winning side.

 

He hates the obligatory team hug (thanks, matt) whether they win or lose at the end of the games, hates watching his ~~friends~~ teammates either grin or commiserate, what were they, the fucking Trojans? but no, there was his ~~family~~ team all smiley and happy and Neil’s giving him a conspiratory nod towards the showers and Andrew _hates_ , no, _loathes_ the warmth of excitement filling him because _fuck that mouthy little runaway_.

 

(quietly, his mind supplies: _Well, the way this is going, you might_.)

 

Andrew rolls his eyes at him but follows regardless.


	2. andrew minyard hates neil josten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> andrew hates neil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imma just leave this here real quick and ignore the fact i need to finish the fourth chapter of the killers teehee

andrew minyard _hates, with a fucking burning passion to rival the depths of hell_ , Neil Josten.

 

For plenty of reasons.

 

First of all, how _fucking_ dare he.

 

You know? Who just let this ragtag suicidal idiot flop into Andrew’s _perfectly_ _mentally chaotic_ life?

 

Andrew didn’t know, but he hated them just as much as he hated Neil.

 

He hated him especially as he watched the idiot writhe and squirm under him, giving long moans a short little shaky gasps that made Andrew’s cheeks flare, and his movements giving away the strength of his reactions.

 

He hates how Neil’s pretty pink lips part in a gasp as he let Andrew _take him_ _apart_ and Andrew hates the loud cry before he lets all the tension bleed out of his body and the haziness of the aftershocks and Andrew swears it’s so beautiful and messy and unpractised and sheer, raw, pleasure that Andrew might just lose it. Because he hates it. And him.

 

He hates how afterwards, Neil will ask permission (a novelty that sometimes Andrew can’t even comprehend. If he believed in luck as a concept, he would assign meeting Neil to- wait no he wouldn’t, because Andrew hates him fiercely) before cuddling up to Andrew, head on his chest and flame red hair tickling Andrew’s neck so Andrew pets it back slowly with his fingers _purely out necessity,_ because if he didn’t, he’d end up with a mouthful of Neil’s hair _._ He hates watching Neil fall asleep like that, hates the tiny sounds of unthinking pleasure that come from his ~~beautiful~~ lips as he sleeps, proving Neil’s trust, which he also hates.

 

Andrew hates that Neil would give his life, his all, for Andrew. He hates how suicidal the idiot gets over Andrew. ~~But it’s not as if Andrew is different.~~

He hates coming home to Neil in the bath, only a fine rim around his face, the rest of his body ~~(naked body)~~ below sparkly red water, giving off the sharp and sweet scent of cinnamon and vanilla. Hates how relaxed he is- and he hates that he smiles.

 

Andrew Joseph Minyard- murderer, juvenile delinquent, goalie, hard-ass and badass with a past to make bandits cry- _smiles_ at this annoying bitch ~~his boyfriend~~ totally relaxed and blissed out, in some sparkly ass water, which probably isn’t even warm anymore.

 

Andrew _hates_ that shit. That smiley thing. It ruins his image. (and it’s too reminiscent of that god awful medication, even if the two situations are stark in the differences)

 

Andrew also, for a matter of fact, hates it when Neil is on the court. Hates Neil’s raw determination, hates the heat radiating off him, hates the way he moves, hates the grin shining through his gear when he makes a goal, hates it when Neil aims that grin at Andrew and Andrew’s heart races for no reason.

 

 (it’s because Neil is beautiful and _his_ , his mind tells him. He tells it to shut up.)

 

Andrew hates it when, many years later, on the couch in their apartment, exhausted after a laborious game with his pro team against some rough, dumb-fuck team with decent strikers, he lies down over Neil’s front, who puts his phone down and casually runs a hand through Andrew’s still damp hair after his second shower. Hates that eventually Neil runs his hands down Andrew’s shoulder-blades, pressing carefully into the sore muscles, making Andrew sigh with relief.

 

“Good?” the fucker asks, and Andrew knows he’s smiling.

 

“Keep going.” was Andrew’s response and command, and he knew it gave Neil more satisfaction than a simple ‘yes’.

 

Neil obliged him, eventually running his hands down Andrew’s back, fingers pressing into the small of his back, and Andrew’s breath leaves him all at once through his nose because _fuck, he really likes Neil’s hand like this._ Hates. He hates it, he means. He hates it in the only way he can.

 

He hates Neil, but perhaps these days that meant something else.

 

 


	3. andrew minyard hates his cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> andrew doesn't see why they're necessary. but he's not neil- he knows that sometimes the unnecessary is nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little short, but i didn't want to write irrelevance!

Andrew Minyard hates Sir and King. Sir Fact Cat McCatterson and King Fluffykins, to be precise. Usually, Andrew appreciates precision in facts. This one? Not so much. 

 

Andrew hates that the cats, in their apartment, decide to inhabit the ratty old 70's-esque couch. Andrew keeps insisting on buying a new one, but Neil keeps denying him because of, you guessed it, 

 

"That cats like it." 

 

And Andrew hates that he goes along with it. 

 

Andrew also hates, on that note, that the cats decide to make everything their business. Neil finally decides to stay home one afternoon rather than go to a training, and where Andrew could be on the receiving end of fingers through his hair, that priviledge belongs to the cats, who flop onto Neil's lap. Instead of Andrew. And he hates that shit. 

 

Andrew hates that on one of his worser days, when he feels like crawling out of his skin, that the cats make the choice to be around him but not too close. He hates that the eventual climb over next to him on the bed where he can pet and pat and feel a little being breathe calms him so much. He hates how the furry rise and fall of the two little dumbasses' frames grounds him, makes him feel safe again. Andrew hates that he has to know that, and Andrews hates it even more when Neil finds out. 

 

Andrew hates it when the cats circle around his legs and chat to him, purring and growling at him. He hates that he talks back (in the deep privacy of his home). He hates that they are somehow validating when he talks about his pro team or Neil or Bee or Neil or how much of a dumbfuck Kevin is, or his boyfriend Neil. 

 

Andrew doesn't have words for how much he hates that Neil one time catches him mid sentence.  

 

"And then he gets up and says, 'I'm fine,' like he hadn't just broken his-," 

Andrew heard the clink of keys hitting the ground before he whipped around, but it was close. Neil was grinning like a dipshit, and both Sir and King, sitting side by side, meowed in tandem. 

 

Neil can't walk over- he's in crutches- but his flushing cheeks and his grin say it all. 

 

Andrew feels his cheeks heat up at the memory, and he hates that too. 


End file.
